


Pickles and princes

by rromantic



Series: From the inside universe [9]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rromantic/pseuds/rromantic
Summary: Emmett runs into a jar of pickles, and brings them over to the loft for dinner.





	Pickles and princes

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** Tiny bit angsty, with a RR ending.

“You think he’ll be all right?”

Brian makes a noise of protest when Justin suddenly lifts his head and too cold air hits his cock. Worried eyes look up at him from between his legs, and for a moment Brian hesitates. He has two choices... distract Justin by reminding him of the job at hand, or acknowledge his partner’s concern and reassure him in _Justin’s_ way. Which means talking, or at least... sounds that vaguely represent words.

Tugging lightly on the blond hair, he lies back against the pillows and pulls Justin into his arms. Given the subject matter, a combination of languages - both his and Justin’s - might not be such a bad idea. After all, truth be told, last night wasn’t exactly easy for him either.

Justin invited Emmett over for dinner, which they planned on cooking together. Not surprisingly, they didn’t have any of the required ingredients in the loft, and Emmett had a long list of groceries to pick up before he came over. However, nothing on the list ended up in Emmett’s shopping cart.

From what Brian managed to piece together in between Emmett's sobs, the flame of Pittsburgh was his bright burning self until he passed a shelf of pickle jars. Not just _any_ pickles. Fucking _Shickle’s_ pickles. Of course, Emmett’s candle was instantly doused with a vat of vinegar, turning him into a bawling mess. He bought as many of the fucking things as he could carry, and ended up at the loft with a trembling lower lip, bitten raw, and tears streaming. 

That was _not_ how Brian imagined his weekend would start. As if it weren’t enough already that he had to spend his Friday night with a queen.

“Brian?” Justin’s voice is small, yanking Brian from his reverie.

With a finger under Justin’s chin, he kisses him. Slow, soft, silent and deep, doing his best to keep back the urgency and desperation his body is screaming to pour into Justin. He brushes his palm down Justin’s throat, the rapid beating of Justin's heart against his thumb sending his own racing anxiously. Instinctively, their legs tangle, their cocks snuggled against each other, but both in need of much more than just physical closeness.

This time, Brian’s name is a quiet sob on Justin’s lips, stealing Brian’s breath and sending an aching fire through him.

“He’ll be fine,” Brian says with forced lightness, when he trusts his voice enough to not give away his own fear. God-fucking-damnit, he’s just gotten Justin back. The thought of ever losing him again, like Emmett lost George… “George was old, it was time. Besides, it’s not a bad way to go.”

Justin gives a strangled laugh, and gives Brian a disapproving slap on his thigh. “Don’t ever tell Emmett that.”

Brian rolls them over until Justin’s beneath him and he can look down at the beautiful face. Justin’s arms crawl around his neck, and he leans down to touch the tip of his nose to Justin’s. Small gasp… muffled, but right now he’ll take what he can get. “He’ll be fine,” he whispers against Justin’s mouth, before running the tip of his tongue repeatedly over the full lower lip.

For the most part, Emmett has been doing well... actually, amazingly so... and even though Brian would never tell him to his face, he was proud of how Emmett handled George’s death. He kept his chin high, and after the debacle over George’s will, settled back into his prior fairy-tale life with little fuss.

But every now and again, months later, when something happens or someone says something that triggers memories, Emmett bursts into tears. Usually, Brian leaves immediately with a couple of choice insults, his tone belying sympathetic eyes, and subsequently he’d never experienced the full extent of Emmett’s grief. He most definitely had never seen him passed out, clutching an empty pickle jar to his chest, his face red and swollen.

Like he did last night. _Jesus_.

Dinner was the last thing any of them thought about after Emmett’s dramatic arrival. Instead, Brian settled for a bottle of Beam, Justin did his best to pay homage to George by working his way through the stash of supersized jars, and Emmett overdosed on Cosmos and pickles. Christ, what a combination. How the fuck he managed to stomach all of that and not get violently ill was beyond Brian.

Of course, Brian did his best to disappear, but Justin’s anxious grip and broken “please” made him sink back onto the couch without another word. He knew it must have killed Emmett to see the two of them together, but he couldn’t bring himself to let Justin out from underneath his arm. Yes, he needed. _He_ , Brian Kinney, _needed_ to know that unlike George, Justin was close by. Breathing and heart beating. _Alive_. He kept telling himself in between Emmett’s dramatics there wasn’t going to be a change in the number of loft occupants any time soon. Not for _any_ reason.

“I want you inside me.”

Brian pulls back, his eyes locking with Justin’s. Since Justin whispered those words for the first time again after the bashing, it’s become a sort of signal between them. Five words communicating a vast range of subjects, complete discussions, a million different emotions. It’s become their safe place. Something Brian can hear, and understand, without fleeing the loft. Something Justin can tell Brian instead of, “I love you so goddamn fucking much,” while still bringing the message across loud and clear.

“You’re sure?”

In answer, Justin lifts his hips and wraps his legs around Brian’s thighs.

“What about Honeycutt? You want to check on him first?”

A groggy voice suddenly pipes up from outside the bedroom shutters. “Don’t call me that!” 

Brian and Justin stare at each other for a moment before simultaneously bursting into laughter. They both sound a bit hysterical to Brian’s ears, but he can live with that. And he can _really_ live with blue eyes sparkling with mirth and relief, instead of unshed tears. “He’ll be just fine.”

Reaching behind him, his eyes not leaving the sunshine smile for a second, he fumbles for lube and a condom. Justin’s lips are hungry under his... eager and needy, wanton, and _his only_ , just as they should be. Just as his ass is Brian’s only, open and ready for Brian’s cock when he slowly enters him.

Justin is back to stay. No more fiddlers, or bashings. _No_ fucking funerals. Not if Brian has anything to say about it.

The only burying he plans on doing, for a long, _long_ time, is deep inside Justin. 


End file.
